The World is Marco's
by NumerousOccasions
Summary: Marco's newfound obsession helps give Jean a better idea of what to give Marco for his birthday. One-shot, Jarco, very briefly mentioned Auretra. Rated K for language.


"SEKAAAAAI DE ICHIBAN OHIME SAMA!" my husband screamed from our bedroom.

"Jesus Christ Marco, shut the hell up," I snapped at him, trying my best to block out the insufferable J-pop and read Catcher in the Rye in peace.

"SO IIIIIUUUUU ATSUKAI KOKORO EEETEEEEEEEEE!"

"SHUT UP!" I finally bellowed. He'd been in our room since 11 this morning singing along to Vocaloid songs at the top of his lungs. Our friend Petra was really into the Vocaloid fandom and introduced Marco about a week ago, and he was totally HOOKED. He could name more than half of the Vocaloid characters, memorized all the most popular songs regardless of what language they were in, and was constantly squealing about something called "Gakupo x Kaito." If you named any of the Vocaloids, he could tell you all the useless information about them. He was currently belting out Miku's most popular song. Prior to that, he had serenaded me with a song that got me really worried because the only English words in it were about saying goodbye and just being friends. There was also one about a purple butterfly, and something about a roaring girl (I think that's what it said anyways), and another about Romeo and Cinderella that made me question how well Miku did in English class. That is, if she were a real person who'd really attended a real English class.

I personally didn't care for any of them (although that blue-haired guy was kinda hot), their voices were way too squeaky and robotic for my liking. I've never been a fan of J-pop in general, I'm more of a death metal kind of guy. Marco did show me a few of their live videos on YouTube - apparently, they have concerts with holograms of the Vocaloids. I admitted it was pretty cool, but come on. Who'd actually pay money to go stare at a SCREEN?

Marco stepped out of the bedroom (FINALLY) and threw me a teasing grin. "This is just my way of telling you that you don't treat me like a princess."

"And I'm supposed to get that message how? The lyrics aren't in English!" It was just then I noticed he was wearing a white t-shirt with an image of the two blonde Vocaloid twins. What were their names, Ren and Lin?

"Where'd you get the shirt?"

"Petra took me to Hot Topic yesterday and we both binged on Miku merchandise! I also got two more shirts with Miku on them! And a lanyard, and three rubber bracelets, and a limited edition Miku toy, and a wall scroll with Luka that I haven't put up yet -"

"Whoa whoa whoa. There is no way I'm letting you hang the redheaded Volcanoid on our wall." I closed the book and put it down beside me.

"Luka's hair is pink," Marco corrected me. "Maybe you're thinking of CUL. Her hair is red. Or Teto Kasane, who's hair is sort of a pink-red color, only she's not a Vocaloid, she's an Utauloid. Or perhaps you're thinking of Meiko? Her hair is brown, but her outfit's red…"

"Whatever color her hair is, I don't want her watching over me when I sleep!"

Marco just chuckled and retreated back to his world of Miku.

I'm glad he did, because several moments later our house phone rang. I picked it up, knowing Marco would have never paused the headache-inducing music to talk to anyone. He hadn't even paused it during our brief conversation, and as far as I was concerned, I was Marco's favorite person ever. "Hello?"

"MARCO! OH MY GOD! Did you hear!?" Petra's loud squeal came on the other end.

"Uh, hey, this is Jean… Marco is, uh, not here right now." I wasn't completely lying. He was in his own little Matsune Hiku universe.

"Oh! Okay! Well, when he comes back, tell him that MIKU IS DOING A CONCERT IN NEW YORK NEXT MONTH! Tickets are on sale now and I've just bought mine!" she screamed.

"Miku's doing a concert, huh..?" I thought about how enamored with the live videos he'd been, the excitement in his eyes when he showed me. The way he would chew his knuckles impatiently when a video focused on the empty stage and waiting audience for half a minute, and the grin that spread across his face when one of the Vocaloids finally appeared on the stage, the goosebumps that rose on his arms along with the crowd's cheers. The envy in his eyes when the camera zoomed in on the reaching arms and dancing glow sticks of Miku fanatics. "I'd kill to go to one of their concerts," he'd gushed to me.

Miku was coming next month.

Marco's birthday was next week.

"Thanks for letting me know, Petra."

After I hung up, I swiped my laptop off the coffee table and pushed the screen open. The bottom of the computer spilled warmth onto my boxer-clad thighs as my fingers flew across the keys, typing in my password: "freckledjesus," a nickname given to my husband in high school. The laptop then presented my screensaver - Marco and I on a beach in Japan during our honeymoon. My arms are draped across his bare chest, my tongue hanging out of my mouth, my left eye winking. Marco's smile is small and casual, and one of his arms is wrapped around my naked waist while the other holds up a bottle of sake. I smiled briefly at the photo, taking note of how tan he used to be, _goddamn_, before opening up Google Chrome.

The song Marco was singing his heart out to had, at this point, changed to a different one. It had dubstep in it, and was sung entirely in English. Even with her accent, I could understand what Miku was saying pretty clearly. Basically, she wanted to break free from behind the computer screen and be with the person who programs her. It was kind of a cool concept for a song, I just couldn't _stand_ Miku's voice (not that I could hear it very well over Marco's soulful croon.)

I typed in "hatsune miku" and the first three results were her Wikipedia page (she has a Wikipedia page?), her Vocaloid Wiki page (there's a whole separate Wikipedia that's dedicated just to Vocaloids?), and a video of her David Letterman performance (I wonder if Marco knew she was on Letterman). From what I could tell, I was getting no info on her upcoming concert. I added the word "concert" to the end of my search and the first two things Google gave me was a video of her "World is Mine" performance in Tokyo (the song Marco had been singing prior to the dubstep one), and then a website: "HATSUNE MIKU EXPO 2014 IN NEW YORK." I clicked on it.  
>I was redirected to a huge picture of Miku grinning happily with her meter-long teal pigtails floating beside her. Next to the art was the logo for Miku Expo and two concert dates - July 18th and 19th at Hammerstein Ballroom. I decided that the 19th, a Saturday, was a better option. Neither of us had to work on Saturdays. I scrolled down and clicked on the "Find Tickets" link underneath the July 19th option, and was redirected to TicketMaster.<p>

I already had a TicketMaster account, set up with a credit card and everything, that I used when I took Marco to see St. Vincent for our anniversary last year, and for a Black Sabbath concert I attended with my friends Eren and Connie before Marco and I were even married. As I was finding the tickets, I realized VIP tickets were sold out. You didn't get much if you had VIP tickets other than limited edition merch and early entrance. I figured Marco didn't need the extra merchandise anyways, he'd already given himself a carpal tunnel buying Miku stuff at Hot Topic yesterday. I knew he'd want to be as close to the front as possible, so I selected "Miku Love Area."

The Miku Love tickets were $75. Each.

Plus a $15 fee. Per ticket.

I was about to spend $180 so my husband and I could stare at a screen for two and a half hours.

I sighed as the red box at the bottom corner of the screen reminded me that the page would close automatically in two minutes and forty-one seconds if I did not continue my purchase. "I really love him," I told myself, and a few moments later, I had paid for two tickets to see Hatsune Miku at the Hammerstein Ballroom in one month and ten days.

A long, hard sigh billowed from my lips, as if clicking a button was the most exhausting thing I'd done this past week. Or maybe it was because of the current Miku song emanating from our closed bedroom door. This one had a pretty good tune to it, and contained a lot of piano. The only word I understood was "sakura," the Japanese word for cherry blossom.

I snapped my laptop shut and picked up the house phone. My finger had just barely brushed across the 1 button when I realized I didn't have Petra's number memorized. I fished my white iPhone 5 out of my pocket and opened my contacts after putting in my passcode - 5562, or JKMB, our initials put together. I pressed the phone to my ear, and the glass felt cold against my skin. Soon, I heard her innocent, chipper voice. "Hey Jean! Is Marco back yet? Did you tell him?"

"Uh… no. Here's the thing, Petra…" I kept my voice low. She didn't respond, waiting intently for me to continue.

"You know how Marco's birthday is in a week?"

There was a short pause, and then she said, "Mm. Right!" It seemed like she'd either forgotten his birthday, or nodded in agreement with me and then remembered I couldn't see her nod through the phone.

"Well… I just got tickets for him and I. As a birthday gift. I _really_ want to surprise him with it, so don't you DARE tell him! He can't expect a single bit of this!"

"Oh my god… Jean, why couldn't you have been MY husband!? That's the sweetest thing _ever_!" she gushed, and I heard her husband Oruo shout, "_hey!_" in the background.

I laughed. "Because I'm extremely homosexual, maybe?"

"Good point. You can be my platonic husband. Anyways, Oruo's pretty much ready to kill you now… I should go calm him down." Petra chuckled. "See you at Miku Expo!"

When she hung up with those final words, it dawned on me that I would be in a room listening to and watching those insufferable synthesizers for _two and a half hours._

I groaned and turned my phone off, then back on again, just to stare at the photo that had been set as both my lock and home screen. This was maybe two weeks after our wedding. We were walking through Park Slope, and our friend Sasha snapped it from behind. It's one of my favorite photos of us together; it's just so candid, so raw. It's nothing more than the two of us walking together, our arms curled around each other's waists, backs facing the camera. But it was just one of those small, perfect moments that don't seem special when you're living within them, but after a while you just suddenly remember them, and you're grateful for them. Never mind the dorky matching khakis and sweaters (even though my sweater was crimson red, his emerald green). Our brand-new golden wedding rings glinted in the sun, which the photo captured perfectly. I gazed at the ring now - after three years of marriage it barely had a scratch. Okay, so I'm fucking obsessed with my husband. But I have no reason not to be. Heck, I just spent $180 on something I pretty much despise because I know it would make him happy. I know people say this about their significant others all the time and rarely ever actually mean it, but I can honestly say that his happiness is the only thing that matters to me.

Now it was time to get in there and rip him to shreds if he didn't turn off that goddamn music.

• • • • • • • • •

Now, on my own birthday, my first thought when I wake up is usually something among the lines of, "shit, my leg hurts," or, most typically, "where's Marco?" (He always gets up at, like, six to prepare a special breakfast for me, and because I forget that it's my birthday that day, I'm initially confused.) But not on Marco's birthday. Never on Marco's birthday. When I wake up every June 16th, my first thought is, "the most important person in my life is celebrating their birthday today, and I'm going to make it as special for him as possible."

He was lying on his side behind me, arms wrapped around my bare chest and stomach pressed against my back. I shifted around in his tight grip until I was facing him. His warm breath tickled my face, which I stopped by pressing his slightly parted lips to mine. One of his lids lifted and revealed a tired yet satisfied chocolate brown eye. "Hey, birthday boy," I whispered, my mouth still brushing across his.

"Good morning." He curled a hand around the back of my neck and pulled me closer so he could plant a kiss atop my tangled sea of dirty blonde.

"Go back to sleep," I ordered, gently removing his arms from me and peeling off the ivory covers. "I still haven't got everything ready for you."

I ambled down the hallway to our coat closet, where I'd been hiding all his presents for the past few months. A few shirts, some ties, maybe two or three belts, a watch to replace the one he'd broken, and a yellow and gray case to match the yellow iPhone 5C he'd just gotten last month. I pulled the already-wrapped gifts from the closet and piled them up on the table.

"Can I come out yet?" Marco called.

"You're supposed to be sleeping."

After I'd made breakfast - egg white omelets with brie cheese, red peppers, and mushrooms - it was time for the finishing touch. As I opened my laptop, I heard a pair of feet softly hit the floor. "Jean, it's been forever, I'm coming in there."

"NO!" I practically screamed. "Give me five more minutes!"

Fortunately, my TicketMaster account was already logged in. I located and clicked the "Print Tickets" option, and soon after I heard the printer in our office groan to life and let out small coughs as it regurgitated our tickets. I beamed to myself. 'You did good, Jean.'

"You can come in now, love."

He walked in, clad in a loose gray tank-top and white boxer shorts, and as I scanned his tan, freckled body I was thankful that his birthday was during summer. "Aw, Jean, are all these for me?"

"No, Marco, they're for the cat."

A pair of strong arms wrapped around my waist as he rested his head against my shouder. I melted into his embrace. "We don't have a cat," he chuckled.

"Yeah, I know we don't."

"Is that a hint for something? Did you get me a cat for my birthday?"

I couldn't help the corners of my mouth from lifting up as much as they could, exposing my still unbrushed teeth. "Better."

"Ooh, I can't wait." Marco retreated to the kitchen table, examining the breakfast I'd put out for him. "And you even made me my favorite omelet!"

"Was I not supposed to? Oh, and last night I went out and bought that gross hazelnut stuff you like, that's what that is," I said, referring to the mug of coffee next to his plate.

"Aw, _Jean_!" He gave me a big wet kiss on the cheek, which I normally would've hated, but today I just laughed and wiped it off.

"Happy birthday, Marco," I whispered, kissing his forehead.

After breakfast was done, he tore through all his gifts, thanking me profusely for each one of them. When the last box had been stripped of its wrapping paper, I felt a tingling feeling inside me that extended all the way down to my toes. "There's one more," I said.

"One more? What else could you have possibly gotten me?"

"You'll see," I called to him as I walked towards the office. There they were, still inside the printer. Two full-page, full-color tickets to see Hatsune Miku live at the Hammerstein Ballroom in one month and three days. I snatched them up and pressed the ink side against my chest so he couldn't see what they were. "Close your eyes," I ordered him as I stood in the doorway, and his long dark lashes slammed down on the chocolate-almond like irises.

I made my way over to him, giving him a soft kiss on the ear just because I could, and put his empty plate in the sink to make more room in front of him. I slammed the two sheets of paper down against the glass table.

"Now?" he asked me.

"Now."

His eyelids rose slowly, probably to elongate the suspense. His thick eyebrows knitted together when he saw the papers, clearly confused, but as he examined them more closely, he started to look like he'd just seen God himself.

"No," he whispered.

I curled my lips and pressed them together to contain my enormous smile. I wanted to see him smile before I did.

"Jean… you didn't… no." He grazed the paper with his fingertips, barely touching them as if he was afraid they would disintegrate if he pressed into them any harder.

"I did," was all I could say.

"This can't be real… I am _not _going to see Hatsune Miku in our city next month." He raked his fingers through his dark brown hair, wrist pressed against his forehead. I had never seen him in such disbelief before in my entire life. Not even when I proposed.

"You are, and I'm taking you, because I bought those tickets for you, as a birthday present."

He screamed and pounced on me, pushing me to the floor as I let out peals of laughter. He cried out "thank you" between the thousand kisses that were ruthlessly raining down onto my face. My heart was clattering against my ribcage - I still couldn't believe I had made him this happy. When his soft lips finally ceased their attack on my face, I could see that tears had carved into his freckled cheeks. He was so happy that he'd _cried._

"J-Jean… thank you…" Marco buried his face into my bare chest, gripping my shoulders tightly, and shook with joy-filled sobs. "I… I can't believe you did this for me…"

"Petra told me about it," I explained, rubbing his back. "And I bought them to surprise you. These are for you and me - Petra already has her ticket."

He looked at me after a while and wiped away his fresh tears with the back of his hand. "Jean… I… don't know w-what to say…"

"Here's a hint; you don't have to say anything." I pulled him closer so that our foreheads touched. "Happy birthday. I love you."


End file.
